Are
BJJ Professors Necessary?
Did Oswaldo Fadda's
Teacher Luis França Learn Jiu-Jitsu from Conde Koma?
@
Robert Drysdale
Special
to GTR
September
1,
2018
The
initial inspiration for this article came after some mild flak I
received after an interview I gave for a podcast in regards to the
gClosed-Guardh documentary film about the origins of Jiu-Jitsu in
Brazil. During this interview I made a comment about it being my
personal suspicion that Luis França, Oswaldo Faddafs teacher,
was mostly self-taught given the lack of evidence available in regards
to his apprenticeship under Mitsuyo Maeda the famed gConde Koma.h
The notion seemed to upset some people who, perhaps, felt I was being
disrespectful to that lineage. In fact, much to the contrary, one of our
goals is precisely to shed some light on the neglected and underknown
history of Oswaldo Fadda and his important role in the development of
Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu (BJJ) as an art. More to the point of the article
however, it is my opinion that all practitioners are, at least to some
extent if not mostly, self-taught.
This
all might sound outlandish and egotistical, but perhaps by the end of
this article you may come to agree with me if you donft already. The
conclusion came to me from my own personal experience and, although it
may not be the most popular of positions, I believe the core of it to be
correct and its understanding to better help us understand our own
technical progress as well as our social-milieu.
Martial-arts,
like most athletic endeavors (and one could argue that more so than
most), are highly mental, technical, physical and emotional. These
factors have varying degrees of flexibility (depending on our
endowments), according to the numerous environments we are exposed to
during the course of our martial-arts journey (i.e. house-hold, peers,
gym, tournaments, etc.) making the combination of all these factors the
building blocks on which our performance and overall apprenticeship
stands.
It
is a difficult task to explain in writing something that is so natural
to our experiences, we may well be as unaware of its existence as a fish
may be to the existence of water. Bridging this gap may, perhaps, help
us better understand and further our progress. Technically speaking,
most of our lessons in BJJ are not gcookie-cutterh exact replicas of
what we have learned in class from our instructors or have seen
elsewhere but, in fact, our movements on the mat are largely
improvisations on the spot created from: a) past experiences; and b)
observation. Where the latter takes a back-seat to the former.
As
a guide to this point, perhaps we can think of some of our own personal
lessons. As a parent, I often attempt to instruct my daughters to behave
in a certain way, or to avoid certain behaviors. Some of it is heeded,
but many of these lessons are ignored until they have actually
experienced the results the hard way (i.e. gdonft run when the floor
is slipperyh; gfinish your dinner or you donft get desserth;
etc.). In a similar manner, our instructors simply telling us not to
stick our necks or arms out there, or to do gX and Yh when opponent
does gZ and Ch is not enough for the complete learning experience to
take place. Lessons of failure and frustration are required in order for
behavior to be assimilated and avoided in the future. And here lies the
corner-stone of my point: the majority of our mat-behavior, is the
training of the four elements I describe above combined with our failed
experiences of the past. Hardship and failure become invisible yet ever
present teachers.
These
failures, followed by corrections and adaptations, followed by counters
and so on, create an arms-race like environment that directly interact
with our mental, emotional and physical capacities and are at the core
of what we call technique. In this sense, our opponents, training
partners and mat-time are our primary teachers. Additionally, the
lessons that stem from success and failure on the mats are often
invisible and so trivial to common-sense that no one would bother
teaching them in class unless they wanted to risk ridicule. These
lessons however are the overwhelming majority of our actions on the mats
(i.e. when mounting, shifting your weight left, when your opponent
bridges to the left). The apparent triviality of such actions should not
be under-looked simply because they seem obvious. Their combined
importance is exactly what we call good-grappling.
This
is not to diminish the role of observation and what we learn from our
instructors. Observation, whether from attending class, or watching
videos, can often gift us the glight-bulbh moment that can open a
series of doors that will allow you to pursue a new pathway. The primary
goal of the instructor, in this technical sense, is to provide his or
her students with a plethora of doors and allow the student to choose
which ones suit his or her preferences. All in accord with his or her
abilities, be that of a mental, emotional or physical nature, rather
than imposing his or her technical preference on the student, a method I
have seen fail repeatedly and invariably, at least within large and
physically diverging groups.
Learning
is largely a mystery to me. I have often wondered at why is it that when
I show a gkata-gurumah in class some students grasp it almost
immediately while others canft seem to grasp it at all. If the exact
same data is presented, why is it that people differ so much in how they
absorb that information? Even discounting athletic ability and
experience, our acquiring of knowledge differs greatly from that of our
peers.
This
furthers my own belief in the inherited qualities of not only our
bodies, but also of our minds. The teaching experience described above,
correlates directly with my practice as a student. I was never taught
the guillotine in any detail. I saw it once in a fight and it made
enough sense for me to use it in practice when the opportunity presented
itself and adapt it over time, through practice and error, to my own
preferences. Furthermore, I have been taught ghip-throwsh my whole
life yet I have always failed to execute them in practice and, to be
honest, completely fail to even see the opportunity for their execution.
Technical progress is essentially the accumulation of mistakes, followed
by corrections. These can be made by your instructor but are more often
than not made by ourselves, whether we realize this or not. Granting the
instructor with full-responsibility over your apprenticeship, however
commendable and honorable, would be incorrect.
Of
course, this leaves us with the question of what the role of the BJJ
Professor is. The case above, doesnft diminish or tarnish in the least
the role of any coach. In fact, the role a coach has is a far more
important one for our practice than he or she is ever credited with. The
most important role a coach plays is not a technical one, which is not
only endearing but in fact easy in comparison, but a social one.
In
order for a student to be able to learn the necessary lessons (through
practice and observation) it is fundamental that an environment is
created for that practice, a social-platform from which the student can
build upon. Every academy has its own culture and it is the coachfs
job to create and maintain the desired culture (whether that is a
competitive or recreational one), a far more daunting task than teaching
a technique in class, particularly given the wide, varied and
competitive crowds that are draw to martial-arts academies.
This
created culture, has not only the purpose of establishing a friendly and
happy environment that warrants the student to come back, keeping in
mind that attending a BJJ academy is not compulsory (many children
notwithstanding) in the same way that work or going home are. In other
words, if the student is there, it is because he chooses to be there and
although the initial reason for his or her attendance may be technical
(self-defense, competition, etc.) the reasons why they stay long-term
are also of a social and personal nature (stress-release and endorphin
filled work-out, creation of a new social-circle, etc.). But, more to
the point of the topic of this article, the primary purpose of a coach,
is to steer the gymfs culture cohesively in order to allow the lessons
on the mat to be learned by the students.
It
is the maintenance of this culture where the real work of the leader
lies and, truth be told, his or her technical skillset takes a back-seat
to the importance of this social-maintenance. The most daunting of tasks
isnft showing a variety of techniques in a comprehensive and
digestible manner, but rather managing egos, hierarchies, drama, gossip,
petty competitiveness, love-triangles, rudeness, arrogance, narcissism
and everything thing else that accompanies any adult gathering. In
military terms, the job of a BJJ leader is to grun-a-tight-shiph,
avoiding all of the negativity above, while maintaining a happy and
friendly environment, running a business like a business (cut-throat and
all, in case the coach and gym owner are the same person), teaching a
good-quality class, working to make the group grow (where the
cohesiveness becomes increasingly more difficult of a task) and whilst
maintaining onefs moral-integrity. Far from an easy job, keeping in
mind it is also highly competitive.
I
have often observed, both in the MMA and BJJ worlds that the people who
were often referred to as good coaches, werenft necessarily good
technicians or particularly great at explaining the techniques either.
But they always possessed a high degree of social-intelligence, a good
psychologist if you will, that had little or nothing to do with
martial-arts. More often than not, these qualities were in fact
worthless for technical development but are crucial for the
social-cohesion a leader seeks. They are: wits, ability to build
alliances, sharp sense of humor, being a good sports-psychologist and,
most importantly, being the social-alpha male. In some ways, at the cost
of sounding overly Freudian, the role of the coach is to become a
father-like figure to students.
This
is corroborated by my observation that some of the best technicians I
have ever met, were not considered good-coaches, not because they
couldnft explain techniques in a comprehensible manner, but rather
because they lacked the social skills I describe above.
It
is easy to comprehend the importance of both these skills (the technical
and the social) but this should also give us reason for a minimal level
of skepticism as to what is quality teaching. A coach, carries the
burden of possessing both these skill sets.
To
get to the bottom of how we learn and evolve as practitioners and what
the role of teaching is and to discover how we learn, requires a
pragmatism and objectivity that is free of any concerns over any
social-conventions and alliances, and what gought-to-beh should
never prevail over gwhat-is.h Being a good psychologist in the sense
above often takes prevalence over technical knowledge or skills,
regardless of what one thinks of this, it is my view that this is the
reality of our industry. And while the line between a good-psychologist
and a con-artist or a cult-leader can be a thin one, I have met and had
incredible coaches during my life whose positive roles impacted everyone
around them positively. Ultimately, the purpose of a coach exceeds the
technical realm and permeates the social. May this be an instructive one
our students should emulate and the net effect a positive one.
@ (c) 2018, Robert
Drysdale. All rights reserved.
More Commentary by Robert
Drysdale:
Reflections
on the Evolution of BJJ
Who Taught
Oscar Gracie?
I was
Skeptical
Selling
Self-Defense
Rickson Gracie
is Wrong Rev.
of book by João Alberto Barreto
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